


We don't need a fancy town

by cookiegirl



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Canon Compliant, Collection: Purimgifts Day 3, Community: purimgifts, Fluff and Angst, HIV/AIDS, Hospitals, I cried writing this, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-23 12:50:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18152084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiegirl/pseuds/cookiegirl
Summary: "I always wanted to go to Paris," Whizzer says.





	We don't need a fancy town

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smallredboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/gifts).



“I never understood all the fuss about Audrey Hepburn,” Marvin says, idly stroking Whizzer’s arm. They’re squashed on the narrow hospital bed, enjoying what has become their nightly routine: the 8 p.m. movie on the crappy black-and-white television in the corner of the room. Tonight it’s _Funny Face_ , and Audrey is posing artistically in front of the Arc de Triomphe, a bouquet of balloons in each hand.

Whizzer adjusts his head on Marvin’s chest so that he can glance up at him. “She’s a decent actress. And she’s pretty.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

Whizzer snorts. “Prettier than me at the moment,” he says.

Marvin shakes his head. “Not even close.” 

Whizzer sighs and shuffles down slightly in the bed, trying unsuccessfully to hide the wince that comes whenever he moves.

“I always wanted to go to Paris,” Whizzer murmurs as he closes his eyes.

Marvin feels something clench in his chest, tight and painful. He presses a kiss to the top of Whizzer’s head, and tries not to tell him what he instantly wants to: that Whizzer will go, that Marvin will take him.

He can see it in his mind: he and Whizzer walking by the Seine, hand in hand in dappled sunlight. Whizzer ordering needlessly expensive wine that they can't pronounce from tiny tables at pavement cafes; the two of them people-watching and Whizzer judging the fashions. Whizzer taking photographs, his eyes lighting up at the architecture, the food, the storefronts.

Why didn’t he think of this before? Of course, he’d never have taken Whizzer there when they were together the first time; he wouldn’t have taken him anywhere near France, not after Whizzer made that comment about French men. But he should have taken him later. When they reunited, they were so intent on carefully building their relationship back up, but still - there was a time, after they'd settled into a routine, before the bottom fell out of the world, when he could have taken him, and the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

He hates that it never crossed his mind.

Whizzer’s sleeping now, his breath rasping, and Marvin mutes the television and watches scenes of Paris slide by in silence, Hepburn and Astaire dancing across the screen without a care.

\---

The hospital canteen feels like Marvin’s second home. On the days when Whizzer sleeps a lot, Charlotte does her best to carve out time for Marvin during her breaks, and they sit in uncomfortable chairs and drink terrible coffee and talk about everything except the obvious.

But today he needs to talk about Whizzer.

“Is there…” he starts, turning his coffee cup in his hands.

“Is there what?” Charlotte says.

“Is there any chance I could get him on a plane?” he says, forcing the words out as quickly as he can. He has to ask, because he thinks he knows the answer, but what if he doesn’t? What if he’s got it all wrong, and this isn’t as bad as he thinks, or at least what if it isn’t that bad _yet_ , and there’s a chance that -

He looks up, and sees Charlotte’s face. Charlotte doesn’t do pity, not usually, but he sees it now, and he knows. She gives her head the tiniest shake and Marvin looks away.

“Where did you want to go?” Charlotte says eventually, but Marvin doesn’t say, because he still sees it in his mind, and it’s perfect, and it’s theirs. He doesn’t want to share it, and he isn’t ready to let it go.

\---

Marvin stands outside Whizzer's room, juggling too many things: two boxes, the Sunday papers, two coffee cups. He adjusts them as best he can, and pushes the door open with his foot.

The morning sun is shining weakly into the small room, and Whizzer's propped up against the pillows. When he sees Marvin, his eyebrows shoot up.

"What the hell are you wearing?" 

"Good morning to you too, sweetheart," Marvin says drily.

"Good morning. What the hell are you wearing?"

Marvin snorts. "This, monsieur," he says, in a French accent, "is a beret." He sets down the boxes and cups on Whizzer's nightstand and adjusts his floppy hat. "They're all the rage in Paris." 

His accent is terrible, and he should be embarrassed, but Whizzer is grinning, trying not to laugh, and Marvin would make himself look stupid in a million different ways to see that smile.

"I know what a beret is, Marvin. But why - Just, why?"

Marvin sits down. "I thought, seeing as you can't get to Paris right now, I'd bring a little France to you." He takes the lids off the boxes and the cups. "French dark roasted coffee," he says, handing one to Whizzer. "And petit fours, freshly made."

Whizzer peers into the boxes, eyeing up the tiny sweets: bite-sized cakes, miniature meringues and pastel-colored macaroons. "They're beautiful," he says. "Did Delia make them?"

Marvin laughs. "No, don't worry. They're from that fancy bakery you like in the East Village. But don't tell Cordelia I dared go elsewhere for our culinary needs."

Whizzer takes a sip of his coffee. "This is good. It's really good."

"Can I offer you a meringue?" Marvin asks, picking up one of the petit fours. He'd considered a few French foods, but picked these not only because of the aesthetics, but also because he hoped the tiny, sweet portions would tempt Whizzer into eating a little more than usual.

Whizzer smiles and lets Marvin feed him the meringue, and then a small vanilla sponge cake, and he washes it down with the coffee while Marvin chats, putting his accent on again. Marvin's just about to start his own coffee when Whizzer reaches out and takes his hand.

"Thank you," he says.

Marvin pauses. "I'm sorry I didn't... I'm sorry I haven't taken you to Paris for real, yet," he says. _Yet._ Yet, because you never know.

Whizzer squeezes his hand. "It's okay, Marv. I don't need Paris. I just need you."

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Paris in the Rain' by Lauv.


End file.
